


it's a shot in the dark, but we'll make it

by charleybradburies



Series: Angie Who? [1]
Category: Agent Carter (TV), Captain America (Movies), Doctor Who, Doctor Who & Related Fandoms, Doctor Who (2005), Marvel, Marvel (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: (in either canon obvs), Actors, Alternate Universe - Doctor Who, Ambiguous/Open Ending, Community: 1_million_words, Crossover, Crossover Pairings, Crossovers & Fandom Fusions, F/F, Female Doctor (Doctor Who), Female-Centric, Femslash, Friends to Lovers, Friendship/Love, Identity Issues, Implied/Referenced Character Death, Implied/Referenced Homophobia, Love Letters, Not Actually Unrequited Love, Not Canon Compliant, Open to Interpretation, Original Character(s), POV Female Character, Post-Loss, Secret Identity, Secrets, Sexuality Crisis, Spies & Secret Agents, Theatre, Tumblr Ask Box Fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-03-13
Updated: 2015-03-13
Packaged: 2018-03-17 15:41:18
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,709
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3534926
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/charleybradburies/pseuds/charleybradburies
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Peggy's not the only one with secrets. Angie's been hiding all her lives, in more ways than one.</p>
            </blockquote>





	it's a shot in the dark, but we'll make it

**Author's Note:**

> Story requested by a Tumblr anon. 
> 
> Title from "Rather Be" by Clean Bandit.

If there was one thing that Angie did best, it was acting.

Pretending. Lying. Fooling. Deceiving. Tricking. Performing.

It didn’t matter what she, or anyone else, called it. 

It was all she could do now.

She used to travel, everywhere and everywhen. She - well, she was most often male, then, even though it had never felt quite right - could go anywhere she wanted. 

_All of time and space, everywhere and anywhere, every star that ever was._

She’d been mad. 

But now…she was weary.

Her predecessor, the most recent other version of her, grumpy and grey, had gone and she’d come back a pretty girl and when Clara’d left…she’d needed something different. She’d chosen this life, chosen to try out a life more human than Gallifreyan, without having half an idea what exactly she was doing. She never had any idea. She came up with them as she went. If you start out with a plan, something’s bound to change it anyway. It didn’t make sense to have a plan. She had centuries on her and perhaps centuries to go. Hundreds of planets visited, hundreds of stories heard, thousands of lives saved. A plan had been the last thing she’d needed until she’d needed to keep anyone from discovering who she was - or at least, who or what she wasn’t. Not terribly unlike a certain…friend…of hers.

But what Peggy seemed not to know was that she wasn’t the only one with secrets. Angie’d been hiding all her life, in more ways than one; and standing here, center stage, looking out into the rapturous crowd - her arms linked with those of her closest co-stars and her waist bending in time with theirs as they bow, her stage makeup starting to trickle down her face from her sweat, her cheeks beginning to hurt from smiling, her hearts pounding through her chest…her eyes just barely managing to meet Peggy’s and her hearts jumping even more at the proud smile on Peggy’s face - she realizes that maybe, it was neither traveling nor heroism that she’d become weary of, but hiding.

***

Her three musketeers have slunk back to her dressing room by the time she’s escaped the chaos in the theatre proper, and as usual, Daniel’s the first to hug her, Jack following immediately after him, and then Angie throws her arms around Peggy’s neck, Peggy’s arms wrap around her, and they pull each other tight, sharing all their warmth and tenderness as though they’d not seen each other in a very long time, until Jarvis shows up at the door to inform them all that he and Howard are out back in the car. Daniel and Jack return to it with him, and Peggy’s fingers are sparks against her skin as she helps Angie out of her costume and into the flowing floral print dress she’d worn to the theatre that morning. 

She’s so exhilarated from drinking in the rush of her adrenaline that she only partakes in a single drink on the ride back to the Stark mansion. 

***

The regeneration that had landed here years ago had been skeptical, but Clara had been her best friend and companion for nearly a decade by then, and she’d wanted so badly to come, to see what it had been like…they’d tried Britain during that time, but that had not gone quite well, for quite a number of reasons, not the smallest of which had been the memory of her loss of Danny…so America it had been, and they’d gotten in their box and crossed the pond. Clara became Connie, and the man whom Angie had been then became her father - the one who’d given that Barnes kid a look of warning when he’d come by that first time, told him to have her back by ten, the one whom Clara had given a scowl or a jab at such remarks.

Clara had lost them both around the same time, and it had devastated her for weeks; but only briefly before the Doctor who had been her father had left, she had sobbed that all she truly needed was a friend, and then, along came Angie. 

And she felt _right._ The Doctor had never tried being a woman before, but this - this body, this persona…felt far more right than any other body she’d had, and it had brightened she and Clara both. Of course, what Angie had not considered was the matter of attractions. In her prior lives she’d had all sorts, but it had never much mattered how any given culture perceived them - she never was anywhere for long. Her companions - and on occasion their families or close friends - were the ones whose opinions mattered. 

But, living in one place for a number of years, she’d learned differently. They’d moved to the Griffith soon after she’d regenerated, and soon after that, people'd begun to…judge. She couldn’t blame them, really: they were in each other’s rooms at all hours, often wearing each other’s clothes, pecking from each other’s plates at meals…romantic attachment seemed a logical conclusion, and after a year or so, it was true.

(Clara had been in the front row at Angie’s first show, clapping like a madwoman, and had knocked Angie’s breath out of her when she’d thrust her arms around her in a hug before they walked home, and then she'd popped into Angie’s room after they’d finished their baths and given her a bouquet of pretty pink flowers, and they’d found themselves inside each other that night - both in metaphysical self-discovery and in something…markedly more lascivious.)

The part that Angie _could_ blame them for was that people seemed intent on believing that - the objectively somewhat simple matter of their attraction, and to whom they were attracted - to be something bad or immoral.

She’s tried not to think about that these past few years - those judgements, that mindset. She’d made enough mistakes through all of her lives; she was already an alien - she didn’t need people thinking she was really some sort of freak. The factor of normalcy, of continuity (something that she’d never had before settling down in New York for these years) had been a saving grace for her, and she was not about to forfeit that. 

Or at least, so she’d thought. 

Peggy Carter, she suspected, had other ideas. 

She, as Angie had been well aware even before being clued in to Peggy’s professional life, was not one for normalcy. She did not shudder at stability, but she never stopped toeing the lines between the crosshairs; she and danger were drawn to each other like moths to flame. There was never a dull moment, not even their conversations at the Automat counter. And as much as Angie wanted stability, order, consistency…she craved that danger, that thrill. 

And most of all, she craved _Peggy._

***

She’s stepped back in time. Somehow. She must have. 

No, of course she hasn’t. She’s at the house, not at the Griffith, and a million other things have changed. 

But the damned flowers haven’t.

Someone must have found her.

Perhaps Vastra and Jenny, or River - or what if it were Anthony Williams? No, he didn’t even know she existed, not as a woman, not here, not now. Besides, he’s only in his teens yet. 

Clara was alive still, though she’d gone…Angie doubted she’d return, let alone without a word. 

She doesn’t realize she’s been frozen in place in the middle of her room until Howard’s voice shakes her. 

“Y’all right, shining star?”

She startles, but turns around to face him at the doorway.

“Yes, yes, just a little…overwhelmed right now.”

He nods.

“Opening night’ll do that to ya. You should at least get in bed before your mental acuity drops out of orbit; some sleep will do you good.”

A momentary smile creeps through her lips.

“Thanks, Howie,” she says teasingly, and he scrunches his nose at her in a disapproval wearing the same shade.

“G’night, Angela,” he replies, his voice mocking and his smile wide as he stays at the doorway just long enough to see her laugh, and when she returns the valediction, he closes the door behind himself as he leaves. 

Her hands clasped together nervously at the middle of her chest, she slips her jacket off and decides to go over to the table in the middle of the room, where the ominous bouquet sits, taunting her. 

The petals are soft and slippery against her fingertips, and the vase is a deep white with ornate engraving - probably one of Howard’s. And, following the natural order of things in her lives, there’s no indication of who or where the flowers are from. She’ll have to ask English 2.0 tomorrow if he was aware of anyone stopping by. 

She shrugs out of her dress and buttons up her nightdress as she heads to the bathroom, then slowly readies herself for bed. 

She hasn’t quite gotten used to the covers being warm when she slips under them, but at Howard’s, they’ve almost always been so, and she’s thankful for that tonight. She snuggles herself under them, releasing a soft moan of relief and comfort. She leans over to turn off her bedside lamp, and then she sees it. 

A light pink envelope, her name etched on its front, standing up against the side of the lamp. Her hearts beat a little bit faster. 

_My darling Angie,_

_I truly hope you like the flowers - I found them rather lovely, and the most lovely woman deserves the most lovely flowers! Tomorrow you should find that they add a brightness to your room (not comparable, of course, to that which you add to my life, but I digress). You are incredible - an incredible actress, and an even more incredible person, though I’m sure most of the people who will be joining our friends and I in your adoring audience tonight will believe that no such thing is possible._

_With you, a great many impossible things have been proven possible._

_I have been, I am, and I shall forever be, immensely grateful to have the privilege of having you, your vitality, and our love in my life._

_With the proudest and fondest regards,_

_English_


End file.
